


On the symbiotic relationship

by hundredacresky



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-02 08:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hundredacresky/pseuds/hundredacresky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow they ended up doing everything backwards.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An odd start

**Disclaimer:** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.

 

* * *

**_Chapter 1 - Where it started._ **

**_/_ **

She was nice enough, figured Shikamaru, scrutinizing the young lady seated across the booth from him. Cute smile, if not a little plain, and Chouji sure seemed to like her.

And thus ended Shikamaru's in-depth (?) critique of Chouji's newest girlfriend, the guest of honor at tonight's dinner. Like with every new girlfriend, he was dead-set on having his ex-team meet her first and foremost, seeing as they were practically family or something. It was a thoughtful, well-directed gesture, Shikamaru supposed. If you ignored what it was doing to his seatmate.

Said seatmate was currently being a total pain-in-the-ass, nuzzling her head against her drink while mumbling bitter nothings into the crook of her arm. Typically, one didn't plan new partner get-togethers when one of the invited party (especially the over-emotional, borderline-psychotic portion) had just been cheated on by her fourth boyfriend this year. But this was Chouji. He never thought of these things.

"…I just love animals," Yurina was saying brightly. "I volunteer at the shelter every Saturday. Chouji's offered to start volunteering with me!"

Shikamaru just gave what he hoped came off as a polite nod at this saccharine statement, glancing at Ino to see what it was doing to her. In the space of the last few sentences, she had nearly melted into the tabletop. With a mumbled  _troublesome_ , Shikamaru rolled his eyes and started filling a plate up with anything and everything he figured would sop up the seven drinks in his ex-teammate's empty stomach and passed it to her with a nudge. Tripe? Hell, that looked spongy enough.

Ino just glanced at the piled-high platter of cow stomach and bread and threw Shikamaru the sourest look she could muster. "Waitress?" She called, interrupting some story Yurina was telling about Chouji sending her flowers 'that matched her eyes'. "Can you bring me a double?"

 

* * *

"Are you going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine," answered Shikamaru, cutting off what would likely be a drunken, pessimistic and relationship-hating rant from Ino, who was currently supporting herself with one arm looped around his neck.

"Shikamaru'll get her home okay." This from Chouji, who, in his perpetual optimism, hadn't sensed that he was the source of all Ino's current woes. Then again, this was the tenth time she had pulled this sort of business on them in the last two years, so Shikamaru supposed that most people just learned to acclimatize.

To this, Shikamaru just sighed. This was beyond troublesome. Couldn't he have ended up in Team 7, with one of the members gone AWOL? Wouldn't that have been nice?

Ino gave his neck a hard tug in an effort to stand a little straighter. "It was nice meeting you, Yurina," she managed, slightly slurred and semi-sweet.

"Oh, you too! Both of you."

She was a nice girl. Chouji always chose the nicest girls. And with Chouji being pretty much the best guy Shikamaru knew, he figured that seemed about right. Which left all the not-so-nice girls for the rest of the world, he figured, hefting one not-so-nice girl's arm higher on his shoulders. And it was time to get her home. "Yeah, you too. We'll see you around."

 

* * *

"—figure they'll be happy, but zzzzeriously. How long does that shit last?"

"Ino," said Shikamaru wearily.

"I swear, relationships are  _the_  stupidest thing all times...ever. Ever! Couldn't I have just been promised to someone in an arranged marriage?"

" _Ino_ ," he repeated, a little forcefully. This jarred her out of her drunken rant. "We're here. Where are your keys?"

Which began a procession of swear words and pocket fumbling that seemed to drag on for hours. Shikamaru just waited. "I... might have dropped them?" Ino finished glumly.

What a pain in the ass. "Then knock on the door. Your parents should be home."

Well, that was a  _nope_ if she had ever seen one. "Shikamaru," Ino said with a tone reserved for speaking to children, pointing at her watch only a little drunkenly and missing, poking her forearm instead. "It's… two-thirty in the morning."

"So?"

"My dad's got to be at Interrogation for 5:30."

"So?"

Ino huffed, listing off the offenses on the finger of one hand. "Uh, he'll kill me for coming home this drunk, this late and on a Tuesday night?" Except  _Tuesday night_  was a little slurred and came off as 'Tuezzzayight'.

Shikamaru felt like pointing out the fact that all her bad decisions had been entirely of her own doing, and she should have stopped around the four-drink mark, like himself, but that was just too troublesome. Instead, he shoved his hands deeper into his pockets and just looked at her expectantly. "So?"

"Let me stay at your place."

"No way."

Ino scowled prettily at him. "Selfish! You live by yourself, there's no one to wake up! I'll be gone first thing in the morning, promise."

Shikamaru was sure he had an untapped reservoir of willpower somewhere deep, deep inside of him. And once he figured out how to actually tap into it around all the scary/manipulative women in his life, then the quality of said life would likely start improving.

 

* * *

When Shikamaru exited the kitchen with a large glass of water, Ino was struggling with her shirt around her head. She gave a drunken hop, hoping to coax the offending garment off of her. It was kind of funny, except for the fact that the movement caused an eye-pleasing motion across her bra-clad chest.

Shikamaru, being what was considered the polar opposite of stupid, had certainly not somehow missed the fact that his ex-teammate was a considerably attractive girl. That is, until she opened her mouth. Fortunately, the many years he had spent with her had left him considerably more acquainted with the abovementioned mouth rather than the well-proportioned possessor of the mouth all the guys had started noticing when they turned fourteen. Shikamaru figured he was almost entirely immune to her charms. Still, better safe than sorry. He made his way over to the dresser.

"Do you have a tank top…" she was mumbling, fumbling for a long while through a drawer he was sure most people would have long ago realized held only socks.

"Yeah, hold on," he opened the appropriate drawer and found the largest shirt in his smallish collection, long enough and high-necked enough to hide all of her considerable assets. There was no use in having her pop out of one of his undershirts and catching him by surprise, after all. He was only  _almost_ entirely immune.

She tugged it on with only a slight lack of coordination, taking a moment to give it a deep sniff. Shikamaru caught the motion. "Sorry, I might've worn that once. Want me to give you a clean one?"

Ino shook her head, looking a little dazed. "No, it smells good."

Now she was being weird. Great. "There," Shikamaru pointed out the glass on water on the bedside table. "Drink all of it, and go to sleep."

In a miraculous twist, Ino obliged him without any further argument. She did try to drink the glass of water and attempt to remove the skirt she was wearing under his shirt at the same time, which made for a pretty hilarious show. But before long she was nestled neatly under the covers, her soft snuffling the beginnings of a snore.

Which meant that Shikamaru now needed to go through his disaster of a closet for an extra sleeping bag, having lent out his usual mission pack (and his primary sleeping bag) to the absentminded Naruto a week ago. Meaning it would be weeks -- no, months -- before he saw it again. Troublesome.

"What are you looking for?" Ino asked him softly, partially passed out.

"Sleeping bag," replied Shikamaru, not looking up from his search.

"What's wrong with the bed? It's big enough for you, me, and Chouji."

Shikamaru considered this for a moment. It was true; when he had moved out of his family home following his (unwanted) promotion to assistant head of Cipher ops (Tsunade had threatened him with bodily harm should he decline), Shikamaru was dead set on putting aside the appropriate funds to make his bed – his most beloved piece of furniture – the best damned thing in the whole apartment. Which he had most certainly accomplished. In fact, the rest of the apartment was painfully sparse for its size (a fact that Ino had bemoaned many a time when she had come to visit and needed to sit on the floor), containing only the most necessary of kitchen furniture, a single dresser and a small desk that he both worked and ate at. The bed, on the other hand, was the biggest one he could fit through the front door. A worthy investment, it turned out, considering how much time he spent in it.

Fine. The sleeping bag wasn't going to be found within the next little while, after all. And there might have been an old, forgotten sandwich in that closet Shikamaru most certainly didn't want to encounter again. And, after all, they had slept in closer quarters before on long mission nights, in cramped tents in the woods. To be fair, those were back in the pre-pubescent days, but Shikamaru tried not to think about that.

So he climbed into bed beside his ex-teammate, she pointed out a slurred breakdown of which side of the bed belonged to whom and he only half-noticed that her hair smelled like flowers before he fell into a deep sleep.

 

* * *


	2. A convenient arrangement

**Disclaimer:** Naruto is the property of Masashi Kishimoto.

 

* * *

The next morning, Shikamaru woke up.

Then he noticed the slumbering body beside him and experienced the briefest moments of panic upon identifying the sleeping form, frantically wracking his brain to see if he had somehow drunk too much last night and totally fucked up.

But his memories returned and he realized, with an audible sigh of relief, that all was thankfully still good and well with the world. Which only left him with the obvious problem of extricating himself from the bed, afflicted with every heterosexual male's predicament when platonically sharing a bed with a female. Ino had (predictably) violated her own rules about bedspace and was nestled snugly up against him, her breaths deep and even despite the high sun. And the fact that her nightshirt had bunched fetchingly up over her hips during the night certainly wasn't doing anything to help the situation.

Shikamaru yanked the crumpled blanket up and over her scandalous state of undress. Then he directed all of his extensive stealth knowledge to noiselessly standing up and escaping to the bathroom without waking her. He was unshowered, unfed and forty minutes late for work and counting. Scrawling a brief set of directions on a post-it note he left on the bathroom mirror for Ino (painkillers in the desk drawer, lock the door on the way out), Shikamaru set off for work.

And that was the last of her he had seen for the better part of the week. Until today.

Shikamaru glanced up at the sound of metal colliding with lineoleum. Ino had dropped her stethoscope. She cursed, loudly, her mood the highest level of sour.

Now, the smart way to go about this was to simply not ask, then hoping for an escape before getting sucked into one of her thunderous rants. And thunderous it certainly would be. Shikamaru had walked into her section of the medical ward just as Ino had started painting her nails (on the job, but whatever). She had given him a look that would have likely killed lesser men.

But Shikamaru had to grudgingly admit that he was her friend, and friends did all sorts of troublesome things for each other. Like walking headfirst into a surefire tedious time.

" _Now_ what's wrong with you?" He asked testily, because the whole friendship-related asking clause certainly didn't mean he had to be nice about it.

Ino scowled at him. "I haven't been sleeping well, if you must know. Stupid kid next door got a trumpet for his birthday. Who the hell gives a kid a freaking  _trumpet_ for their birthday? It's like a marching band moved in. And now I've got to get my stethoscope recalibrated. Perfect."

Shikamaru gave a slow nod.

Ino reached for a pair of scissors and snipped at his chakra-infused arm binding testily. "And you with a broken arm. You've really got to watch yourself, you know that?"

Shikamaru shifted away from her hard-handed scissor manners, and winced from the movement. "Not my fault. The earthquake knocked our campsite clean off the cliff. Not exactly an easy-to-predict situation."

"Still," she frowned disapprovingly. "You've got to be careful. The arm binding will fix you up in 24 hours, but it's crazy expensive. You should see this month's supply bill. Don't think I can spare more for next time."

"Well, this'll get me off of field missions for the week," Shikamaru indicated the injured arm.

Another frown. She was doing that a lot these days. "Tsunade-sama's been sending you on such dangerous missions lately, and I've been holed up here forever. I've got to get out of town or something."

Shikamaru didn't feel like pointing out that her current, precarious emotional disposition might have something (read: everything) to do with it. And she certainly didn't look well. There was a faint smudge of darkness under her eyes, her usually light pallor bordering on sickly. You didn't have to be a genius to figure this one out.

"You talked to Kazu recently?" He asked neutrally.

Ino didn't even look at him, just kept wrapping. "He called me on Thursday."

There was a beat of silence. It would be troublesome to say something she already knew, so Shikamaru just didn't.

"Finished," announced Ino, flashing him a bright (and only slightly forced) smile. "This'll be last friend freebie I give you, Shika. So watch yourself. I'm charging you full price on the next injury, plus a 15% fee for any worry expended on my part."

"I appreciate it," Shikamaru replied, giving the arm a tentative flex (her handiwork was perfect, as always) before noticing the time. "Damn it. I'm late for a meeting. I'll see you around."

 

* * *

So, today was a Sunday. And the worst things happened on Sundays.

Here's how it went: Shikamaru had dragged himself to the Hokage's office late afternoon, feet heavy with dread. He knew what this would be about.

"Listen. I need the finished Chuunin exam prep work for Tuesday, do you hear me? Not a minute late. You're already a week over."

"Right, right." Shikamaru walked over to the Hokage's desk and picked up the heavy pile of papers with about as much enthusiasm as one would approach a pile of fermenting eels. Shizune gave him a sympathetic look.

"And with that scolding and today's meeting with that idiot Fire Lord, I'd say it's time for me to have a well-deserved drink," decided Tsunade, placing both hands heavily on her desk. "Shikamaru, you're dismissed."

He turned to leave the room, the sound of Shizune's abortive protests at the Fifth's Friday night plans resounding behind him, not quite as ready to get down to the rather dense stack of his own Friday night plans. But, hell, such tedious labour required a little motivation and who was to say that he couldn't work and drink at the same time?

His goddamned good sense, that's what. And that was how Shikamaru and Chouji ended up totally plastered by 10:00 in the evening on a Sunday night before one of them (Shikamaru couldn't remember) had the good sense to send their sorry asses home. Shikamaru bid his lifelong friend a slurry adieu, wiped a boozy spill off the top of his paper stack, tipsily turned the corner of the street to his apartment and ran straight into Temari.

Sundays, damn it.

It was no big deal, he reminded himself, that the two of them were currently up to count 5 for their attempts at something. The reasons were as numerous as the breakups – she was occasionally so _mean_ in an unnecessary, unrelatable way; he wanted a family, she didn't – heck, she didn't even want to get married - and so on. Which was always talk that was "too serious", but Shikamaru didn't like expending unnecessary energy on relationships that would never go anywhere (he never liked expending unnecessary energy on anything), so he always made sure to be extra clear up front.

It was no big deal, he reminded himself, that she looked crazy hot in her usual cleavage-revealing garb, the fabric pulling fetchingly at the swell of her breasts. She smiled at him, knowing she had him in a bad spot. It was 10 PM, for god's sake – there was no reason to be this wasted. And then they were at his apartment, stumbling through his door, she was tugging off the above-mentioned form-fitting garment, falling backwards into his bed, commenting on the errant long, blonde hair found on the pillow… Wait. He could have sworn that he'd changed the pillowcases.

"Uh," Shikamaru stammered. "That's, uh—"

And when she replied with a flippant: "Don't worry about it. I'm seeing someone too; it's an open relationship," Shikamaru was just  _done_. This was it, all the things that had been wrong with them each and every time before. This just wasn't,  _wasn't_  what he wanted.

So, at 11:36 PM on Sunday night, Shikamaru asked Temari to leave his apartment for (hopefully) the last time. She hadn't been angry, just rolled her eyes at his buzz-killing mushy sentimentality and left.

In the wake of her departure, he paced the apartment five times, found a box of cigarettes he had been hiding for instances like these, gathered up all his sheets and bedding and headed down to the 24-hour laundromat down the street. Loaded it up and took all of one minute to stare at the rumbly machine before making his decision. A cigarette, it was. God knew Shikamaru needed one.

"Shikamaru!" Came the last voice on Earth he had wanted to hear at that moment. "You'd better not be doing what I think you're doing."

Ino had just rounded the corner, a heavy sweater wrapped closely around her. Shikamaru just sighed extra-wearily; the very sight of her had been remarkably sobering. "What are doing around here?"

She tucked a light strand of hair behind one ear, frowning at the offending cigarette between his fingers and ignoring his question. "You quit ages ago."

"I know," he admitted, only a quarter apologetically. "But it's been a rough night."

Ino rolled her eyes, then glanced behind him. "You're doing laundry?"

"Yeah." Inhale.

"At…" A pause for a watch-check. "A little before midnight?"

"Yeah." Exhale.

She scrutinized him for a few seconds. "And you're drunk."

"Yeah."

"Huh. Well… mind if I hang around here for a bit?"

Shikamaru raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Can't sleep," explained Ino briefly, nudging past him for a chair by the dryers. "I left Sakura and her idiot boyfriend at the izakaya to try to catch some shut-eye. No such luck."

Shikamaru discerned her underlying motive in about five seconds flat. "Doesn't explain how you ended up in my neck of the woods," he pointed out from the door.

"I was just  _walking_ , Shikamaru. Jeez." She picked up a gossip magazine and began flipping through it nonchalantly.

Shikamaru leaned in the doorway and looked at her, an amused expression on his face. "You know, I never did ask you what you did with that spare set of apartment keys I gave you last year."

Caught, Ino lowered the magazine and scowled. "Fine. I might've slept at your apartment once or twice when you were out of town. Don't look at me like that – that first night I slept over was the first decent night's rest I've had in a month. It's that crazy expensive bed of yours."

It might have been (Shikamaru was pretty damn proud about the purchase), but he doubted that was all of it. In fact, Shikamaru did know that Ino had taken this most recent breakup a little harder than the rest. There was something about Ino that so many people failed to see, how she was surprisingly idealistic under the crunchy exterior. And men left her because they thought she didn't need them, that with her eyes and lips and tiny waist and barbed personality she could replace them in a heartbeat. Which was probably true. But for all of Ino's grandstanding in the dating department, it still didn't take a genius to realize that all those ended relationships took a little bit out of you. It was why Shikamaru stayed the hell away from those things as often as he could.

So tonight, he'd oblige her. He was drunk and alone on a Sunday night, after all. He could use the company.

Shikamaru sat down beside her in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, their knees and elbows touching, and listened to her talk about so-and-so and why they were famous and who they were sleeping with, pointing out pages in the magazine as she went. And Ino gave him only two disapproving glares as he later finished the rest of the two cigarettes in the pack, even stood with him in the doorway. They changed his laundry over to the dryer, the night became colder and they lingered, talking about little things as Ino clutched her thick sweater closer against the chill. She mentioned her students and their endless reminders of those Chuunin exams Shikamaru hadn't finalized – and, oh shit.

"I've got to go," Shikamaru realized, looking at his watch. His laundry would be done any moment now and he'd have to down a bucket of water if he was even thinking of getting out of bed the next day. "I've got a boatload of work to do tomorrow."

Ino bit her lip, considering whether or not she would head home and try to fall asleep. No, it wasn't worth it. She hadn't had a decent night's rest in ages. This time, she opted for honey over vinegar and smiled up at him. "Let me come with you?"

Just as he began to voice his vehement  _no way_ , Ino caught him.

"—Wait, wait, wait. I promise I'll be good, I'll stay on my side of the bed and won't snore and I'll be gone first thing in the morning. I've got a shift at the hospital at 6, so you won't even see me. Promise. Come on, Shikamaru, there's no way I'll make it without any sleep! I'll probably accidentally cut off some guy's arm instead of fixing it."

So he said fine, threats of citizen mutilation aside. Sure, it seemed a little weird, but Shikamaru was more than a little tipsy and he figured it would be harmless. Plus, he had had a feeling this whole not-being-able-to-sleep-alone-thing would pass once she got over this last guy, anyway.

They gathered up his dry laundry (which Ino insisted on quickly folding before they left the laundromat. Fair enough, it would end up stuffed in his drawers, otherwise) and made their way back to his sparse apartment. She produced a toothbrush she had hidden behind the bathroom mirror, changed into the same T-shirt he had lent her a week prior and nestled into bed.

This was… nice, Shikamaru decided. Something felt loose and untangled in him, more and more in the simple fact of her proximity over his level of inebriation. And more than once over the course of his falling asleep did he look over at her and think that there were far, far worse things to fall asleep to.

 

* * *


	3. An unwelcome confession

 

 

* * *

That was kind of how their little arrangement became a Thing, when one night a week became every weekend, which turned into every other day.

Ino had started with flat-out asking to stay over in the middle of the night. These times, she was a real treat – she'd be cranky and sour from attempting to obtain a scant few minutes of sleep on her own. Shikamaru, who had usually been rudely awoken from his own slumber at this point, just didn't possess the necessary resolve to turn her away, or even protest.

Then she just started showing up, tapping once, twice on the glass of the window for him to let her in. She never used her key anymore, but Shikamaru noticed that she didn't give it back.

And as the sleepovers went on, Shikamaru noticed that Ino began taking odd little liberties: using his toothpaste, bringing over houseplants, helping herself to the contents of his fridge, etc. Often she'd violate their sleeping-only rule and talk for a long while before they fell asleep. Usually about silly things, like work and friends and family. Sometimes other, more personal subjects, divulging her dreams and fears and weird little confessions about her myriad failed relationships. And always in the same way: a quiet voice, lying on her back and speaking almost to the ceiling, her hand lightly laying, palm-up, on the pillowcase beside her head.

Truthfully, Shikamaru didn't mind – she never expected him to reciprocate the conversation to any degree. He would usually turn over and fall asleep late conversation, anyway.

And there was something that was undeniably charming about these little talks, the way Ino became less wound up and considerably more voluble as the night wore on. The way the unconscious gestures of her hands were endearingly eloquent and familiar in the dusky darkness of his bedroom. It was like they hadn't actually known each other for the majority of their lives, but were instead acquainting themselves in the small space of hours they allotted to sharing territory out of something that felt like necessity.

This was their Thing. Not that it was anything even vaguely resembling a  _thing_ , lacking in any romantic dimension whatsoever. It was kind of weird, but most importantly kind of nice, Shikamaru was willing to admit. Which was probably why he let it go on.

Some mornings he woke up by himself, Ino's half of the bed neatly smoothed over, her blanket folded pristinely and placed on her fluffed pillow and the enticing smell of her leftover pot of coffee thick in the air. Other mornings, Shikamaru would wake with the soft press of her sleeping body against his back, or with his arm errantly flung over her the plane of her stomach and nose partially buried in her shampoo-scented pillow. Clearly, she hadn't been the only one taking liberties. But Ino hadn't complained about it yet.

This morning, Shikamaru woke alone. She had moved a nearly desiccated vase of flowers from the window to his desk with a post-it note stuck to the green enamel reading:  _water me_!

Right. He had forgotten. After following the post-it note's instructions (with a few spritzes of water in a feeble attempt to revive some wilted petals), Shikamaru went about his morning routine. Cup of coffee to go, shower, dress, slouch to work.

The rest of his day was almost as painfully routine, save for a few guest appearances from his peers (Sakura had carted a chipper, though injured, Naruto in on a gurney to report on the intel he had obtained on his last S-rank mission, Neji to place some cipher requests and Shiho, just to say hi).

As his workday drew to an end (after an ungodly 12 hours, no less), Shikamaru was less than pleased to find not one, but two reminder texts from: a) his mother, reminding him about Yamanaka Izumi's surprise birthday party tonight, and b) Chouji, who was returning from a week-long mission much later in the evening and needed to go out for an immediate, badly-needed drink. A troublesome twist of events.

So instead of indulging in what he would have actually loved to do that evening (read: sleep), Shikamaru opted to skip the change of clothes (as a possibly useful excuse for a quick escape at any point during the night), swung by the bakery near his apartment for a box of Ino's mother's favourite sweet pastries and left for the Yamanaka residence.

It was 9:30. He resolved to leave by 11.

Now, parties with his parents and their life-long friends were typically routine affairs. Shikamaru showed up, endured some polite nagging from mothers Akamichi, Yamanaka and Nara, typically on the topic of marriage and children (as in: when on earth was he going to get started on either, for goodness sakes, he was a catch and they wanted to play with some grandchildren). He'd drink a rather unhealthy amount of Chouza's disgusting homemade beer, then was usually wrangled for a shougi match or twenty with an inebriated Inoichi, who insisted they play until he could win against the young prodigy. Eventually, Shikamaru would end up giving him one damn victory just to get away from the playing board for a few precious minutes.

He used his current few precious minutes to finish off another fugitive from his emergency cigarette pack, choosing to escape to the privacy of the Yamanaka shopfront to minimize the chance of being caught by one of the mothers.

Which was where he ran into Ino. Other than a brief nod at his entry earlier that night, she had similarly been wrangled into an almost painfully routine set of party activities that kept her quite busy for the majority of the evening.

"Yo," greeted Shikamaru, lighting his cigarette and ignoring her disapproving glare. Despite having been sleeping beside her for more nights than not over the course of the last few weeks (or perhaps because of it), seeing her outside of the apartment felt a little bit weird. Shikamaru was pretty sure that it might have been the first time they had met like this since the beginning of their strange little arrangement.

Not that there was anything different about it. Ino was still Ino after all: generous with her eye-rolls, legs crossed, skirt a distractingly short length, second source of his female woe since his tender childhood. She was leaning against the white fencepost in front of the store with her cellphone in one hand and glass of plum-sour in the other, presumably to similarly escape the annoying attentions of their elders.

It was a fence Shikamaru remembered being coerced into painting when they were 12. Chouji had unintentionally made the biggest mess of the flowers, and the Yamanakas were selling paint-streaked roses for days. Fortunately, they had been pretty hot seller.

"You're still smoking those things?" Ino pulled a disgusted face.

Shikamaru held up his pack, shaking it to give her an idea of its dwindling contents. "Yeah, well, after this, that's it."

She raised a skeptical eyebrow and smirked. "Forever?"

"Maybe forever," he lied. "It's my last emergency pack, after all."

"I don't believe you," she replied, rolling her eyes. "You're the worst with those."

He decided the change the subject in an attempt to waylay the nagging. "You coming to meet Chouji tonight?"

"Mmm," Ino glanced at her phone, then decidedly turned it off. Shikamaru didn't ask. "Yeah, there's no way I'm sticking around here. When does he get back?"

"In an hour, I think."

"Argh," Ino complained loudly. "Can't it be any sooner? I can't stand another stab about the waning of my prime birthing years."

Shikamaru nodded, but couldn't resist a sarcastic jab. "Not having a good time?"

Ino gave him a look. "Oh yes, it's incredibly pleasant having your drunk father try to have The Talk with me for the—" She mocked counted on her fingertips. "Ninth time this year?"

"They just want to make sure you know how to get started on those kids you should be having right about now."

This elicited a light laugh from Ino. "Hah! You should see how much my mother wants to plan a wedding. Can you imagine the horrible dresses she'd pick out for my bridesmaids? Sakura would just die."

Which was right about when said tipsy mother came out to fetch something and overheard them.

"Now, now," Izumi chided disapprovingly. "Is my dearest daughter badmouthing her one-and-only mother on her birthday?"

"I wouldn't dream of it, Mother Dearest," replied Ino, flashing the winning smile of the culpable.

Izumi gave a laugh, a knowing look on her face, and took Shikamaru's arm to steady herself. He readily obliged her, passing his cigarette to his other hand discretely. "You two must know that we're just annoying because we love you so much."

"And because Ino's birthing years are waning so quickly," Shikamaru couldn't resist adding with a straight face. Ino scowled at him.

The older woman laughed. "Yes, and those birthing years. But really, it's a waste to not pass on your good genes. Shikamaru, don't you think my daughter's one of the most beautiful girls in Konoha?"

It took a moment for Shikamaru to realize that Izumi had, in fact, been talking to him. Despite there being many pretty girls in Konoha, most people would certainly have a hard time disputing Izumi's statement, but Shikamaru didn't know how to answer truthfully without making things awkward, slightly buzzed or not. So he just opted for a half smile and no answer, then avoided Ino's gaze for a full three minutes.

"Though I must be honest," continued Ino's mother, in a conspiratorial sotto-voce. "As much as I would love a grandchild or two running around, it's actually better to use your youth to learn how to be okay on your own. To develop more as a person. Then you can find someone and settle down afterwards."

This was surprisingly wise and useful advice, so Shikamaru finished his cigarette and let her go on, carefully aiming the exhaled smoke away from Ino's slightly wobbly mother. He suspected that in there was some advice for her daughter's perpetual boy troubles.

Ino smiled. "I can hear you, Mom. Standing right here."

"Don't waste your time looking everywhere for something that will find you eventually, you know? Ino, for example, can't seem to stop wasting her time with the worst boys –"

"Mother…" Ino interjected.

"This last one actually cheated on her! That was a month ago and now she's already seeing someone new. She's barely been home for a night in ages. And I haven't even met him."

Uh oh. Shikamaru chanced a quick look at Ino, but she had frozen, intently avoiding eye contact.

"Mother, I'm not –" Ino objected abortively, her cheeks coloring.

"Honestly, Ino," Izumi continued, unabashed. "You've got to stop sleeping around with guys like this. It breaks my heart. People will think you're a slut, you know."

Ino just froze, hurt easy to discern on her face.

Alright, it was time to stop this vein of conversation. Shikamaru ground his cigarette butt into the white fence and delicately pried the almost-empty drink from the older woman's hand. "And that's enough of that. Izumi-san, as much as we appreciate the advice, I think it's time to get you back to your birthday celebrations." He began to usher her back inside before Ino spoke up.

"Actually," she declared suddenly, an angry flush to her cheeks. "I've been sleeping over at Shikamaru's."

Shikamaru just froze, Ino's mother in tow.

Izumi eyes were round with shock. "What?" She asked softly, turning to look at Shikamaru like she didn't believe what she was hearing. "Is this true? Why on earth—? "

Shikamaru blinked. What the hell was Ino thinking? This would pretty much guarantee the most troublesome week the two of them would likely ever face, plagued by questions from three sets of parents, not to mention a likely rumor that would spread like the damn plague. He opted not to answer, unwilling to corroborate with (the truthful parts of) Ino's story in case she decided to backpedal later. God, he hoped she would.

"Anyway, there you go. Happy birthday, Mom," Ino finished shortly. She turned to Shikamaru. "I'll wait for you at the bar with Chouji."

And then she just left, leaving Shikamaru to somehow get a drunk and shell-shocked Izumi back inside the house, all the while avoiding her (understandably) numerous questions. Somehow he managed, then left without bidding anyone else goodbye.

He had to talk to Ino.

 

* * *

 


	4. A bad night for decisions

 

**4.**

* * *

Talking to Ino was considerably easier decided upon than actually done, Shikamaru soon realized. And for a number of reasons: one, being that there was no opportunity to talk about the night in front of Chouji, seeing how that would simply add another layer of complexity to this whole sordid situation and two because, well, Ino was avoiding him.

Following Shikamaru's avoidance-riddled escape from the family affair and his subsequent arrival at the bar, he noted that Ino  _had_  arrived before him. She had also strategically deposited herself on a barstool situated between the wall and Chouji.  _Touché_ , thought Shikamaru, narrowing his eyes at her cunning as he nestled down on a stool flanking Chouji's opposite side. There would be no questioning her during the evening session at all with this setup, unless he somehow managed to catch her on her way to the bathroom.

Shikamaru resolved to keep an eye out.

"Hey," he greeted his returned comrade. Chouji grinned in response, while Ino suddenly looked quite absorbed in the wall decor.

"I was just telling Ino about my mission," explained Chouji, putting down his menu. Naturally, he had made certain to choose one of the few town bars with an all-night kitchen. "Remind me to tell you a funny story about the Hakuro bridge later. But how'd the birthday go? I'll have to make it up to your mom."

Ino rolled her eyes. Shikamaru looked over at her and she took the reins. "She'll get over it. You know how it went. Like any of our parents' birthdays go."

This elicited a knowing laugh from Chouji. "Ah. So, in other words: you drank a ton of my dad's bad beer, Shikaku tried to have The Talk with you for the bazillionth time, Shikamaru played shougi with your dad all night and our mothers were unbearable?"

"Right," agreed Ino, sipping deeply from her drink. "Except I managed to escape the bad beer, so I'm going to have to catch up with you two."

Chouji nodded. "Well, that's probably for the best. My dad said he was brewing up a new flavoured batch of something strange. Might've been yogurt."

Which totally explained the strange taste in Shikamaru's mouth, but what was done was done.

And that was how the night wore on, full of their comfortably inane conversation. They talked about nothing and everything, about their parents and their students and their current assignments. It was like they had their own weird language, punctuated by old memories and their strange, personal quirks: Chouji's hearty laugh and infectious easiness, Ino's brash, eye-rolling pokes and Shikamaru's minimal, reserved participation.

Warm and familiar in all the right places, it was a dynamic that was special enough to be cherished, which was exactly why Shikamaru would never dream of driving the awkward wrench that was his and Ino's bizarre little arrangement right down into the gut of it. Less because it would warrant one roughly elephant-sized explanation – and, god, would it _ever,_ but Chouji would eventually understand – and more because Shikamaru was becoming unsure of what was really going on, or what sort of comfort Ino was taking from the setup, or even whether or not Chouji should have known about it at all. Kind of messy.

So he thought less on that and more on finding that elusive opening with Ino, though with little luck. Plenty wise to his antics, she managed to snag a passing Sakura to accompany her to the bathroom, resulting in Shikamaru's lost opportunity number one. He then tried to tail her to the main bar for another round, but Ino just ended up volunteering him up for the payment and transportation of said round without her, all the while smiling sweetly at him from Chouji's other side. Typical.

It didn't escape his notice, however, that Ino remained oddly upbeat for the rest of the night, carrying her end of their conversations swimmingly. Shikamaru had learned (the hard way) that this probably meant the very opposite of what it seemed, but with her grade-A level of avoidance there was simply nothing he could do to address it. Truthfully, though, he was pretty sure he didn't want to.

And maybe it was because Shikamaru had been looking for an opportunity to talk with Ino all night (or maybe because he was 5 beers, 2 rum and cokes in and counting) but he felt somehow hyper-aware of her presence as the night wore on. The way she leaned up against the back of his chair when asking for their drink requests, her occasional languid stretches from her seat, arms to the ceiling, light hair cascading down her back like sunshine. And it was only when he caught himself watching her wrist with an odd degree of fascination that he finally decided to direct at least some of his considerable mental prowess to figuring out how to capture her for questioning. And he would've certainly figured it out, too, if not for Chouji having paid off their tab sometime during the space of the last four minutes.

Shikamaru blinked. Sometimes he thought he drank too much. Maybe just a little.

So they left the bar.

"I should've brought a sweater," Ino hinted obviously before Chouji, ever the gentleman, handed over his. Shikamaru just shoved his hands in his pockets.

It was that weird time of night when the street became almost eerily quiet. When the space illuminated by the faint glow of far streetlights almost expanded from the absence of people. The air was still, punctuated by the brief call of cicadas and the low keening of frogs. A Konohan night was never truly a silent one.

"Ah," sighed Chouji, stretching. "My legs are killing me. But I get to see Yurina tonight. I can't wait."

Ino rolled her eyes, but her smirk was warm. "Again? You two are practically attached at the hip. Must be pretty serious, huh."

To which Chouji grinned and answered: "I dunno. She makes me pretty happy, I guess."

Ino fell back into step beside Shikamaru, her footsteps ghosting lightly through the alternating pools of streetlamp light. She gave a snort, a tad too tipsy to be considerate.

"Be nice," cautioned Shikamaru.

Ino stuck her tongue at him, stumbled a little, her hand brushing across his for a fraction. He didn't know what it was, but the brief contact made him want to reach out and touch her. Which was the stupidest of stupid notions. To do what, exactly? Hold her hand? Put his arm around her?

Good god. He had definitely drank too much.

So Shikamaru quickened his pace and caught up with his other, less confusing teammate. Ino hung behind them as they chuckled through Chouji's abovementioned Hakuro bridge story, quietly considering the soft cacophony of insects along their path. Then they rounded onto his street and Shikamaru tried his best to count the houses until his own, his vision near blurring.

It was when Ino said: "You can head over to Yurina's if you want," that Shikamaru realized they had reached his apartment.

"Huh?" Said Chouji. "But this is Shikamaru's house. You're not home yet."

"I'm a big girl, I can get home by myself from here," she pointed out, a little slurrily. "And Yurina lives really close, doesn't she?"

"True…" Pondered Chouji, more than a little ready to get out of there and see his girlfriend. "I hope this is alright," he offered somewhat apologetically to Shikamaru. "It's just, Yurina's place is right around the corner and I haven't seen her in a week."

"Huh?" Shikamaru missed that. He was drunkenly searching his keyring for the front door key. Oh, right. Yurina… something, something. "Yeah, sure."

So Chouji left for his lady love on a saccharine high, Ino waved a tipsy and overly enthusiastic goodbye, tripping on the bottom-most stair, and Shikamaru  _couldn't_ find that stupid key. Hell, he could barely see straight.

Once their ex-teammate was out of sight, Ino made the wobbliest beeline for his front door.

A vague reminder pushed itself into his head. "Whoa, whoa. Wait a second," asserted Shikamaru, stepping in her way. He tried to recollect exactly what he had to talk to her about. Ah-ha. The party. "Earlier. What was that about?"

Ino gave an exaggerated eyeroll, crossing her arms. Shikamaru couldn't help noticing the alcohol-induced blush coloring her cheeks. If it had been anyone else, he might have admitted that it looked kind of cute. "What was  _what_  earlier?"

Like she didn't know. "What you told your mom earlier."

With a huff, Ino tried to maneuver around him to the door with only a slightly wonky path. "Ugh, Shikamaru. Leave it alone. She was being a bitch and I wanted to shut her up. No big deal."

He didn't budge. "You do know that we're never going to hear the end of it from them."

She didn't say anything.

"Was it because of what your mom said? Because that's not true. Nobody thinks that."

Ino paused for the briefest of moments, the motion kind of giving her away. She stood a little straighter and shot him a tired look. "Whatever, it's alright, it doesn't matter. Anyway, it's not like we're doing anything wrong here. Now, could you please move over? I'm ninety-percent sure I'm about to pass out and I want to check on my flowers first– they're probably long dead, knowing you."

She pushed past him to the door at last, fumbling for her spare key, which she inserted into the keyhole.

 _Her key_ , his brain said.  _She's using her key_.

And that was just it, what was so strange about all of this. About the spare keys and the late-night talks and the vases of flowers and the pots of coffee and post-it notes. She said they weren't doing anything, but that wasn't quite right.

And yet, that brought up the obvious question of what they  _were_  doing here, exactly. Shikamaru had no damn clue – but that required thinking about what he'd need to say and what he'd be saying by saying it and so on. He was far too gone for that sort of thing now. Instead, he reached out and lightly grabbed her arm, forcing her to do a surprised about-face toward him, key still protruding from the lock.

"Why did you tell your mom?" He asked her again, because it might have been the booze or maybe the fact that she smelled like an undeniably beguiling mixture of flowers and one too many plum sours, but he needed to know. And Shikamaru had seen Ino break limbs and take names of guys who had gotten a little too touchy countless times over – she certainly could have pulled away from his loose grip. But she didn't.

"It's not a big deal, Shika," she repeated softly.

Something further back in Shikamaru's mind remarked on how close they were standing right then, how he could count the few freckles speckling her nose, ones that she had obsessed over erasing for as long as he could remember. How nicely the porchlight lit her fair features. His hand felt warm where it touched her, and though he knew it was from the skin-to-skin contact, the sensation was oddly electrifying. He moved his thumb, absentmindedly caressing her arm. He felt the goosebumps that rose up under his touch.

Ino was beautiful, just as he had known for a long time, but Shikamaru had never let himself  _realize_  it before.

And she was going to kiss him. Shikamaru could see it in the way Ino was looking at him, an expression on her face he hadn't seen before. There it was: the drop of her gaze, the small smile, the parting of her lips. There it was: the upward tilt of her face, the lowering of her eyelids.

And because he should have slowed down somewhere after his fifth drink, and because Ino was one of the only regular occupants of all his oldest memories, was soft and warm on all those shared mornings, was bitchy and mean and caring and sweet all at once and was 5'5 of quite a few of his unadmitted pubescent fantasies, Shikamaru was going to kiss her back, damn it. And he did.

Though these last few nights of sleeping beside her had amounted to something almost tolerable, it was like a realization had dawned in him. It, combined with the almost painfully nice sensation of pressing his lips against hers, were fervently arguing against his good behaviour. And, damn it, were they winning.

Shikamaru reached behind Ino and turned the protruding key in the lock. Suddenly, they were inside of his apartment, his foot kicking the door shut behind them. Then they were stumbling together, she was shrugging off his flak vest, running her hands up over his chest and through his hair, he was backing her up against the closest wall. The sudden onslaught of sensations sent his buzzing mind whirling.

It was over when Ino pulled away from their kiss. She stopped her retreat a few centimeters from his face, but the distance felt illogically significant. Still, she was close enough that Shikamaru could feel the warmth of her quick boozy breaths, see the specks of darker blue in her irises.

Somehow, his hands were moving.

Ino had reached down to take a hold of both of them, directing their movement up the smooth skin of her thighs, up, up to where her skirt hem met exposed skin. Then, with only the slightest pause, she dragged their joined hands higher, causing the logical part of his brain to voice a very explosive  _what the fuck_  that his inebriation muffled.

They inched her skirt up and over her feverishly warm skin, until she could loop Shikamaru's thumbs in the waistband of her underwear. In an almost painfully slow movement that Shikamaru realized he had been holding his breath for, their hands slipped the fabric lower and lower, over the soft swell of her hips.

Then they were off.

Shikamaru froze. His heart was hammering a heavy staccato in his chest, loud enough that he swore she could hear it. It was Ino's move, so he watched her carefully for a cue to shift, to do anything.

"What?" She asked slowly, an amused smile on her face.

"You—" Shikamaru managed. "Are you—"

Ino gave a soft laugh at the expression on his face, the sound doing something weird to his insides. Then she reached up and pulled him in for another hard kiss.

They were moving, then. She was fumbling with his belt buckle, as he pressed her up against the wall, her thighs sliding up to hitch over his hips, her tongue sliding against his. She reached down to press him against her and then, in one satisfying movement, he was in. Ino gave a gasp that broke their kiss and stilled them for a second.

Something in his overactive mind was still fervently trying to fix the situation, pointing out all the things that were wrong about it. Shikamaru frowned through the warnings, pressing his forehead against hers. The alcohol in his blood was working to silence his misgivings quickly, his head buzzing contentedly with the warmth of their connection. God, she looked so good, panting softly like that.

Then Ino started moving, and nothing mattered anymore.

Their pace was frantic and feverish for a few needy movements by the wall. Shikamaru could feel the friction between his knees and the plaster, the bite where Ino gripped his shoulders tightly. She was tipping her head back, gasping against his ear, squeezing her thighs.

Shikamaru hitched Ino's legs tighter around him and picked her up, moving towards the bed, and deposited her roughly in the same spot where she had been sleeping for the past while. She breathed a light laugh when they hit with the pillows together; the sound made him crush his mouth against hers. Ino obliged him for what felt like no time at all – she rocked her hips against his, arched her back up into his movements, made the very best noises into his ear.

And then the moment passed. She pushed up against him, rolling them both over in the process. Shikamaru might have guessed that she liked to be on top – and Ino apparently knew that he would just let her. Undoing the side zipper on her shirt, she tugged it up and over her head, unhooked her bra and slid the offending garment down her arms.

"Jesus, Ino," breathed Shikamaru, and like most hot-blooded males, felt his gaze immediately drawn downwards. Her strokes were long and slow, and the feeling it was kindling in him was utterly maddening, but he fought against it.

She was moving faster then, and despite having probably heard her say his name about a million times over the course of their lives, it had certainly never sounded just the way it did right then. The sound and her movements were pushing him past the point of no return when she finished with a soft, gritted moan just as he started, cutting him right off.

With a grunt, Shikamaru flipped her over and she laughed breathlessly. The noise made him want to press her down and do all sorts of bad things to her. But Ino was saying his name like that again and pressing little kisses against his throat, arching up into his strokes. Before he knew it, he was coming, grinding into her harshly and stroking every inch of skin he knew he would be forbidden come morning.

Shikamaru didn't move for a little while after it was over, cupping her face and feeling the heat in his blood quieting. Ino tilted her chin up and lazily kissed him. "You totally killed my plant," she whispered in slow accusation, pointing to the shriveled floral entity on the bedside table.

He might have laughed – he couldn't remember.

Ino fell asleep quickly afterwards, but Shikamaru didn't – watching for a long time the way her collarbones skimmed the top of the blanket, the way her lashes fanned out against the tops of her cheeks. And even though his memories of that night would end up being a hazy barrage of semi-vivid images, soft touches and hard kisses tinted with the stain of inebriation, he was sure he'd remember that sight the best.

* * *

 


	5. A quick amputation

/

**5\. A quick amputation**

 

* * *

The next morning, Shikamaru woke to the heart-stopping sound of someone breaking down his front door. No, he realized belatedly. Knocking… Someone was knocking.

The sunlight was a marbled sort of bright through his still-shut eyelids and a blinding headache was doing a swell job of magnifying the sound up to about the world-falling-down decibel level. Having gauged the time of day through closed eyes many times over the course of his life, Shikamaru was willing to wager that it was roughly 7:30 AM. So, no. That door was about an hour away from being anything close to open. Instead, he gave a complainant groan and rolled over, expecting to collide with the warm and soft entity that was a sleeping Ino before continuing on in merry slumber.

There were a number of things wrong with this plan. The first being that Ino was not, in fact, sleeping beside him as she had been for the majority of nights in the weeks prior. And second, that sleep became unattainable once Shikamaru realized he was itchy and uncomfortable and (most importantly) naked, bringing the events of the previous night crashing down upon his consciousness like a proverbial ton of bricks.

Oh shit, he thought. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

He chanced the smallest crack of eyelids in order to survey the state of affairs. He was undressed underneath the thin sheet, his clothes not-so-artfully strewn about the floor. And Ino? Not there. This last realization was making him feel all sorts of weird ways about things, so he just tugged on a shirt and a pair of pajama pants and sloped over to the door.

"Shikamaru-kun?"

Facing him was his elderly neighbour, Hirama.

"Feel up to playing a game of shougi with me? I spotted Ino-chan just as she was leaving, so I figured I'd see if you were up."

Shikamaru blinked at him. Did he know? The old man's face belied nothing but a crinkly smile and a few yellowed teeth.

"Sorry, Hirama-san, I'm not really in the mood for a game right now."

"Of course you are. You love shougi."

Yeah, Shikamaru did. How badly he wanted to wrap his fingers around the koma right then, to push them through the gridlines neatly, all simple, straight lines. Nothing like the way the inside of his head was feeling. He glanced at the clock. Those exam templates were due at the end of the workday; it was currently 7:54.

"I'll call in a half day," Shikamaru said with a  _fuck it_  sort of air. "Take a seat, Hirama-san. Let me just grab a quick shower." He grabbed his towel off the back of a chair, pointedly ignoring the two errant long blonde hairs stuck to it.

* * *

 

So, Ino? Was nowhere to be found within a mile radius of his apartment. Shikamaru had looked (without really looking). Just kind of-, sort of- kept an eye out as he walked over to Hirama's house, helped him gather the shougi board and the koma scattered throughout the household (the resulting game was a hodgepodge of pieces from three different sets of varying ages), brewed up a pot of coffee, helped take out the elderly man's overflowing trash and played. Played and played. They played twelve games in total on Hirama's overgrown, sun-drenched front lawn, Shikamaru calling out endgame countdowns with terrifying accuracy each and every time.

"10 more moves," guessed Hirama. "Right?"

"7, old man."

There were other places Shikamaru could have checked for Ino, of course.

"What? I don't believe you. We haven't ended a game in anything less than 30 yet."

Like the hospital, or the genin training grounds. Other options included (but were not limited to): the flower shop, the Yamanaka household, Chouji's house, Sakura's house, and Sasuke's front bushes. Shikamaru was only half-kidding on that last one. Half.

"Four," chimed Hirama, counting their turns.

Taking stock, there were several things undeniable. The first being that it sucked that Ino had just up and gone. Not  _left_ , she hadn't left.  _Left_ meant a note, a folded blanket, a stupid pot of coffee. Ino had just been  _gone_. And that knowledge had somehow begotten a warm and uncomfortable sensation in the pit of Shikamaru's stomach that dangerously resembled disappointment. Ridiculous, right?

"Three."

Shikamaru groaned inwardly. Who the hell was he kidding? All those IQ points and he hadn't the slightest clue what he would have said to her had he rolled over and right into view of her sleeping face. The thought brought an unbidden rush of memories with it – he thought (unasked for, unnecessary) of the bow of her lip, the smell of her hair on his pillow, the dozens of goddamn hairpins on his bathroom floor. No. He was pretty sure he would have figured out what to say to her. He was pretty sure he wasn't this much of a moon-eyed loser two months ago.

"Ha! 7 moves even! You're a national treasure, Shikamaru-kun."

Shikamaru glanced up at him, almost having forgotten that his partner was there. "Yeah, good game."

"Play an old man again one of these days, would you? I haven't seen such a heart-racing match in ages."

Shikamaru didn't want to point out that such stimulation was hardly the prescribed activity for the average 85-year-old man, so he nodded instead. "Sunday works. I can bring lunch."

His neighbour smiled. "Well, don't put yourself out. If you can pull yourself away from whatever's going on with Ino these days, then it would be great to see you."

Damn it. He forgot to let Hirama win a single game.

"Ha! That was a shougi massacre, Shikamaru-kun. Must've had something on your mind. Say hi to her for me, and I'll see you on Sunday."

Shikamaru didn't even waste time pretending to protest, just managed a weary half-smile, rolled out his sore shoulder, swiped a coffee and left.

* * *

 

The half-day, despite its name, had crawled along at a veritable snail's pace. Shikamaru spent it in the following manner: a) two mind-numbing hours in the fiscal update meetings for both the Cryptography Ops and Defense department, b) a handful of snatched moments scribbling quick updates to the mess that was his exam templates, and c) one-and-a-half hours co-teaching a genin class on Close Range Combat and Opportunities with Rock Lee, in which he mostly did more of b) in between hurrying Lee through his many fiery (and grossly unnecessary) tangents.

Of course, there was also plenty of option d), which pretty much consisted of Thinking About Ino Despite a Concerted Effort From the Rest of his Rational Mind to Do the Exact Opposite. Finally, finally the day was over. All Shikamaru had left to do was drop off those godforsaken exam booklets and collapse into bed. He managed roughly seventy paces before being assaulted by a flash of pink, spilling his fourth coffee of the day.

"Shikamaru," panted Sakura. "I've been looking everywhere for you." She placed both hands on his shoulders and looked up into his face with an expression of utter seriousness. "You've got to tell me: is Ino seeing anyone right now?"

This again. Shikamaru was convinced that today's running tally of inquiries about Ino vastly outnumbered those over the entirety of the last year and a half. It would figure. He carefully removed Sakura's hands from his person and swatted at the coffee stain currently burning a hole in his thigh.

Sakura remembered herself, quickly stepping back and reaching for a napkin from her fanny pack. "Ack, sorry! Here. I tried asking Chouji, but he had no idea what I was talking about. Then again, he's barely lifted his head from his new girlfriend for the past two months."

Shikamaru glanced up from his pants-wiping and gave Sakura a weary look. "What are we talking about, again?"

"Ino's new boyfriend," she replied, sotto voce. "I know for a fact that she's not been sleeping at home for a couple nights a week. Her mom said she was probably seeing someone new, but she hasn't mentioned a single thing about it to me. You were my last source. You're rarely conscious, but I figured you might've seen something."

"Or you could just ask Ino."

"I would, but I haven't been able to pin her down lately. With our new assignments, our days off never overlap anymore." She sounded kind of sad.

Shikamaru considered this. "I'm sure there's a reason why she hasn't told you what's going on. Maybe she's just working things out after that last guy."

"You know what, you're probably right. Seriously, what a loser that last guy was. I'd never say it to her face, but what sort of moron cheats on Ino? Did he seriously think he'd find someone better?"

This was all true, so Shikamaru didn't say anything.

Sakura considered him for a second. "Where are you headed?"

"Hokage's office," he explained, gesturing in the general direction of the tower. "Finishing touches on the Chuunin exams."

"Right. Want me to walk you over? I owe you a coffee and I'm kind of trying to avoid Naruto."

Why not? The sun began its slow descent through the sky halfway to the Hokage's tower, casting the Konohan evening in an amber glow. A village suspended in honey. Sakura was speaking, filling up the small spaces in Shikamaru's attention that badly wanted to stray into the realm of miserable over-analysis. She was regaling Shikamaru with the highlights of Sasuke's awkward renaturalization back into Konoha. He chuckled in all the right places, nodded in others.

Shikamaru saw Ino before she saw them, standing with her students near the genin training grounds, the ginger ether soaking her light strands of hair in spun gold. It was weird, he thought, how this worked. That today, of all days, he had been asked about her over and over. Ino had tugged at the end of almost every thought and every activity of his day. A reasonable hypothesis was that this was all a terrible side effect of last night, but then seeing her now would have ( _should have_ ) dispelled any and all weird thoughts and feelings. This was it, wasn't it? The chance to say that unarticulated something that had niggled at him since morning.

No, it wasn't. As much as Shikamaru had thought it would, the sight of her face hadn't inspired any courage in him after all. How potent was the ignited thought that spent the entirety of the day burning a hole in his consciousness. This wasn't because of last night; last night hadn't been the spark, the early-lit ember smouldering in near-perfect silence all the while. Last night was the conflagration. Had it been lit the first night, beside the rolled-up towels mapping out the boundaries of their space? Or was it kindled at the Laundromat, in between cigarettes and the pages of a crumpled, out-of-date tabloid magazine? It could have been any of those times. Or all of them. It didn't matter.

So what now? In the absence of courage, it was easier not to try, to take Ino's lead. Shikamaru could see her readying herself for his company: the slow intake of breath, the stiffened posture, light eyes, squared shoulders. There: the sympathetic response, the fight or flight in her. Sakura greeted Ino with a familiar wave, a smile that lit up the evening.

Shikamaru just kept walking.

 


	6. A festival in the mountains

**Chapter 6 - A Festival in the Mountains**

* * *

/

All in all, things went back to a relative normal. Classes resumed, missions resumed, programming for the Hokage resumed and Shikamaru was almost able to make it through the next month as though nothing had happened. Of course, that statement made the assumption that something had happened in the first place. Gauging by the way Ino acted toward him during the intervening days made it clear that something most certainly had not. Or did it mean the opposite?

He was so worn out over thinking about it, it wasn't even funny. So he stopped.

It would have been okay, the resumption of this new normal (avoiding their mothers, avoiding Chouji, trying to stare pointedly at the wall whenever Ino walked into a room and smelled like a fucking orchard) except Shikamaru, ever the unreliable genius, had somehow let all this avoiding and ignoring make him forget that Asuma-sensei's birthday was fast approaching.

Well, he didn't  _forget_ -forget. The thought, after all, had been present for the last week or so, but the yearly feeling was now so familiar that it was almost more an unconscious response, the newest cycle queued up in his circadian rhythms. So when Chouji and Yurina had shown up at his door Sunday morning with a sullen Ino in tow, Shikamaru realized that he had totally forgotten that Team 10 had plans. On this day of every year since he turned 15, they  _always_  had plans. This time, Chouji gently reminded him, they were supposed to celebrate at the Festival of Colour in Tamba. They had agreed on this months ago. How could he have forgotten?

How, indeed? Shikamaru stepped out of the truck and stretched. Two hours in Chouza's rickety deathtrap of a pickup and he felt like he had just survived a botched massage, joints protesting loudly. Maybe he was getting old.

On the other side of the vehicle, Ino shuffled out of shotgun (which she had dibs'd to avoid sitting beside Shikamaru, he reckoned. Chouji had voiced a quizzical "what is _with_  you two these days?" before allowing her the privilege), a similar expression of dismay on her face. They had caught her right as she returned from a mission, explained Chouji. Which justified the tired eyes and lack of a heavier jacket in the cool mountain air. A ripple of goosebumps on her arms belied her discomfort, but Shikamaru didn't make any hasty move to offer his coat. All that something/nothing between them had rubbed him the wrong way.

The group started off their festivities with a visit to the takoyaki stall in the great Team 10 tradition (made mostly for Chouji's sake, years and years ago). And it would have developed into a full-blown gastronomic tour of the entire damn festival too, had Ino not grabbed Chouji by the back of his collar and firmly told him to give Yurina a shot at choosing the activities.

The familiarity of it all of was almost painful.

But it wasn't all bad, Shikamaru was willing to admit. After all, Ino had steered clear of him for most of the day, and Chouji and Yurina were so nice together it was almost absurd. But as much as he was beginning to suspect that it might have been some crazy dream, that night  _had_  happened. And despite Shikamaru's fairly decent self control, the thought was still managing to leak into his consciousness with distressing frequency as the day wore on. He'd catch a brief glimpse of Ino and his decidedly male brain took all sorts of liberties with his hazy memories of that night. It was enough to make anyone on edge.

Smoking in the group's presence had been officially banned for the day on account of Yurina's allergic asthma. So at the first opportunity of solitude somewhere between the dango stands and the goldfish scooping, Shikamaru snuck away and lit up, feeling the nervous kinks in his joints loosen almost immediately. He sighed, leaning up against a convenient fencepost and tilting his head up towards the slow dance of clouds above. Now, this was happiness. All it needed was a soft patch of grass and there would be heaven. Here, there were no messy feelings or stupid sleepovers or blonde, wide-eyed teammates that arched up into your thrusts and made the best noises when – damn it.

Almost as though his dirty thoughts had beckoned her, Ino came into his view. Shikamaru just looked at her wearily.

"Have you seen Chouji and Yurina?" There they were: her first words to him in a month. Shikamaru hated that he noticed this.

"No. They were with you."

Ino huffed. "I lost them in the crowd near the goldfish scooping stall."

Well, he would most certainly not endure her company alone. Shikamaru shoved both hands in his pockets and stalked off into the sea of people. "Okay. I'm going to find them. See you later."

Ino hurriedly caught up to him, tugging on his sleeve. "Hey, you just ditched me there!"

"Yeah," agreed Shikamaru, not pausing.

"I need to find them, too!"

"You'd manage alone," he reassured her half-heartedly, scanning the crowd for the rest of their party. "You're shinobi, remember?"

Ino shot him a withering look and fell into step beside him. "You're smoking again," she pointed out unrelatedly. He gave her a look that pretty much told her to fuck off.

Sometime in the space of their silent search twilight had fallen, and hundreds of brightly tinted lanterns were lit along the length of the street. They found Chouji and Yurina in a throng under a large wooden gazebo, dancing to some plucky number played by a live band, colourful lanterns casting a candied nimbus over the many swaying forms below. A wave from Chouji when he spotted them, but the duo made no attempt to leave the dance floor. Great, thought Shikamaru. This was going to be awkward.

Ino resigned herself to waiting with him, propping herself up on a nearby stool and plucking a bowlful of peanuts from the bar. "What's the point of this festival, anyway?" She asked, mouth full.

"It's a folk story." Shikamaru fumbled for Asuma's lighter in his pockets, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips. "About Taku and Tana, the local deities. Taku was one of the lords of creation; Tana was his only love, the goddess of the sun. But she was sickly and she died, and the only memento he had left of her was a lock of her hair. Which was famous all over the land for its many different coloured strands – unlikely, but you know how these old legends go."

Ino watched him fumble with the lighter's catch once, twice. It was low on butane. She said nothing, waiting for him to go on.

"But when he made Tamba, he saw his citizens fumbling in the darkness. They couldn't grow crops, they couldn't find water. They were dying. So he took the bundle of his beloved's hair – the only thing he had left of her – and wove the different colours together to make light. That's what this festival is for – so Taku can remember Tana again for a single night. Damn it. This thing's almost empty." He looked around for a candle.

"How do you even know that?" Ino asked him, an amused tone in her voice. She reached out and took the lighter from his hand. It flickered to life on her second try.

Shikamaru stashed the cigarette behind his ear, suddenly wishing she was sitting a little further away. Or closer. It was hard to decide. "I don't know. Must've read about it somewhere, I guess."

They waited a beat like that, considering the moving bodies on the dance floor in companionable silence. Suddenly Ino reached over and plucked the unlit cigarette from behind his ear, placed it between her lips and lit it.

"For Asuma-sensei," she explained, then made a face before blowing out the smoke. Ino handed it back to him. "Gross. I always forget how nasty these are."

Shikamaru couldn't help but think of how easy this all seemed for her. Two months of their unclassifiable companionship, one perplexing night, and then a sudden absence that stretched the entirety of twenty-five days, give or take (a couple of hours). And here she was, resplendent in the pinkish lantern light, peeling peanuts and lighting his cigarettes and making him so much more confused and uncomfortable than anyone should ever have to feel.

"Nice one," Shikamaru commended, tasting the mint of her lipbalm on his cigarette and watching her absently flick the lid of Asuma's lighter open and shut. And he realized that he meant it about a lot of things, but was saved the trouble of elaborating when a voice interrupted them from behind.

"Ino?"

A cold frisson filled the air when Ino turned around and into the face of her infamous ex-boyfriend. She snapped the lighter shut.

/

* * *

 


	7. An idle engine

**Chapter 7:** An idle engine 

//

* * *

 

Despite the guy’s laundry list of faults, it really wouldn’t have been fair to call Kazu a bad conversationalist. He was, after all, currently shouldering a supremely awkward solo conversation with an embittered ex, an unimpressed girlfriend, and a similarly unimpressed ex-girlfriend’s teammate watching it all go down with dispassionate neutrality. In another life, Shikamaru might have felt sorry for the guy.

“Well, it was nice seeing you.” Kazu waved an awkward goodbye.

Ino might have quarter-raised a hand in tepid response, light eyes cold as glaciers. New Girlfriend’s tremendously suspicious “ _who was that?”_ drifted back towards them as the duo left the pavilion. Ino had gone very still, an aura of displeasure so thick and heavy around her it ignited a jittery feeling in Shikamaru’s gut, but he didn’t comment on it. Once Kazu and company were a reasonable distance away, she pushed herself away from the bar and stalked off in the opposite direction.

Out on the dance floor swayed the happier half of their party. Shikamaru cast Chouji and Yurina a somewhat forlorn glance before getting up to follow Ino. She had his lighter, after all.

“God, that was awful.”

Shikamaru looked up. It had been forty-three steps up the game stall lane before Ino said a single anything. She rubbed her arms, shivering against the dropping mountain temperatures. Shikamaru grit his teeth at how much of his awareness this sole fact took up, unzipped his light jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I shouldn’t have acted like that,” Ino continued, like an afterthought, turning to face him. She didn’t mention the jacket; he didn’t expect her to. “I should have been meaner to him. Or nicer. Like I was super angry about what he did or like it didn’t matter at all and I was happily getting on with my life. Right?”

Shikamaru considered this carefully. At Ino’s despondent appearance (another thing possessing far too much real estate in his mind), he ended up opting for some (undeserved) generosity. “Yeah, I don’t know about that. I think you did pretty well back there considering what a shitty thing that guy did to you.”

“Yeah.” She let out a huff of a laugh, like she had been holding it in all day. “ _Really_ shitty,” Ino said, looking almost relieved. “Really, really, really. 

And despite Ino’s tendency to complain about everything under the sun, Shikamaru was certain that this was the first and only time Ino had even overtly mentioned what Kazu had done to her. Shikamaru had known because of Sakura, because of Ino’s mother, because of all those extra drinks on all those team nights out. But never from her. Ino was weird like that.

They passed a beat like that, in silence.

And then, like a stupor had been broken, Ino turned and finally noticed the stall they had been standing in front of for the better part of the last ten minutes. “Look, ring tossing! Let’s check it out.”

Shikamaru looked. It was your standard festival fare, complete with the little stuffed prizes hanging from the ceiling. He noted that the targets were a little further than the accuracy of the average person permitted, a classic carnival situation. But they weren’t average people.

“Might be a little unfair considering your profession,” he pointed out, ever the law-abiding citizen.

Ino grinned. “Don’t let him hear you,” she said in a conspiratorial sotto voce. “That grand prize is mine.” 

She walked over and paid her two thousand ryo, all flirty charm, and Shikamaru took her momentary distraction as another opportunity to savour a snuck-in cigarette, lit from a nearby lantern. The vendor sauntered over from behind the stall while Ino set up her throw. “Hey pal,” he greeted in a sleazy, businessman sort of way. “You don’t want to win the pretty lady a prize? You’re letting her do all the work.”

Oh, how little he knew about Shikamaru’s work ethic. Or lack thereof. “Nah, she doesn’t need my help winning anything,” he pointed out lazily, gesturing toward the stand. There stood ol’-eagle-eye Yamanaka who, in the space of the last two minutes, had landed all five rings on the smallest, furthest targets in her allotted three tosses and was tapping one foot expectantly for her reward. She had been right; that grand prize was hers the moment she’d laid eyes on it.

The vendor was agape at this seemingly impossible accomplishment. “Wait a second, you’re kunoichi, aren’t you? That disqualifies you! You’re getting nothing from me.”

Shikamaru sighed and kicked at the signage. “Sorry _pal._ Your sign says nothing about shinobi.”

“Ha!” Said Ino triumphantly, as if she hadn’t been about two seconds away from fighting a man over a stuffed bear and pointed to the largest toy suspended overhead. “Write better signs next time and give me my prize.”

That was how they ended up wandering through Tamba’s crowded festival streets with both of Ino’s arms (clad in Shikamaru’s jacket) encircling a giant stuffed panda. Shikamaru kept pace beside her, hands deep in both pockets while she maintained a cheery, albeit inane, buzz of conversation. Shikamaru said nothing good, but nothing bad (nothing at all, really) as his contribution to the momentary truce.

Like all things momentary, however, it was doomed to end. It happened like this:

“Oh. By the way, I owe you one for earlier,” Ino said suddenly, slowing to inspect a candy stall’s wares. She picked up a peppermint stick and paid the vendor while Shikamaru waited for her. Then she sauntered back over to where he stood and stepped right into his personal space. Standing devastatingly close, Ino tilted her chin up towards him. Like that night, came the anxious memory, minus the buzz of Shikamaru’s porchlight and their night of drinking. Like she was going to kiss him.

He froze at the unexpected invasion of his airspace, the drop of her blue eyes to his mouth, the _what the fuck_ feelings all of the above were inspiring inside of him. Until Shikamaru felt her fingers pluck the cigarette pack from his front pocket and swap it for the peppermint stick.

Ha, breathed his simultaneously relieved and disappointed mind. He should have known. He should have been angry.

“There,” said Ino, patting his shirtfront with a teasing smile on her lips. “A substitute for your oral fixation.”

Shikamaru narrowed his eyes at her as the elderly store vendor shook his head at their display. Ino stepped innocently back, spun on her heel, and walked off.

Was this happening now? Were they joking about this already? Shikamaru hadn’t gotten the memo.

Luckily, Shikamaru had taken the precaution of tucking a spare smoke behind one ear, since he didn’t have nearly enough energy to rescue his pack from her. He slipped it between his lips as he set off after his teammate, reached for Asuma’s lighter in his back pocket, remembered that Ino still held it hostage and frowned with utter defeat. Seriously. When was this day going to be over? Ino slowed to a halt in front of him, looking back over her shoulder. He cast his gaze about for a light among the many lit lanterns speckling the dim street.

Shikamaru felt the unlit cigarette slip away as Ino tugged it from his lips, producing Asuma’s lighter from some mysterious somewhere upon her lightly-dressed person and lighting it. Shikamaru didn’t like her doing that. It made him a distinct shade of weird that he wasn’t comfortable with.

“You’re doing that a lot today,” he pointed out, shoving both hands deep into his pockets.

“It’s for Asuma-sensei’s birthday, remember?” She reached up and inserted it back between his parted lips, the action revealing a brief glimpse of the faint swoop of collarbones, the top swell of her breasts under her shirt in the glow of the lantern light. She relinquished the lighter with two open-palmed hands. “Hey Shika,” Ino asked. “Do you still hate me?”

Shikamaru sighed around his cigarette, leaving the lighter in her hands. It belonged to her too, after all. This kind of thinking was exhausting, and he never really ran on a full-charge anyway. “I don’t hate you. You just don’t take anything seriously, do you?”

“Then what about the opposite?” The look on her face was inscrutable.

“Of hating you?” It was more a comment than a question. Ino nodded.

And he would have answered, really. Shikamaru had even exhaled a mouthful of smoke in preparation and looked at Ino squarely in the face—fuck, she was standing so _close_ —but his response was never meant to be. A crack resounded in the air; the night lit up in a dazzle of light. Fireworks.

“There you guys are!” Came Yurina’s soft voice, Chouji in tow. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you. We wanted to tell you that the—”

Another _boom_ finished her sentence; there was a burst of brilliant colour.

“—fireworks were about to start,” finished Yurina with a smile. The four of them tilted their heads up to watch the display, but Shikamaru kept thinking about neutrality like it was an old friend he never saw, about once-a-month visits plus the occasional team outing or family gathering. About being back in a place where he was absolutely certain of what Ino and him were and what they most certainly were not. But mostly he kept thinking about the stupid way his heart had beat a little faster at the sight of those two small bones curving gently towards the dip of Ino’s chest and realized that he was probably just screwed. 

 

* * *

 

Ino drove them home. Chouji’s driving privileges were temporarily revoked on account of the three beers he had downed somewhere among all the festival food. Shikamaru was permanently banned from behind the wheel after that one time he had fallen asleep on the highway and almost killed them all. Yurina only had her learner’s permit.

“Stop one,” announced Ino, glancing over her shoulder at the duo in the passenger seats.

Chouji thumped the back of her headrest affectionately. “Thanks, Ino. You’re the best.”

“You’re more than welcome. And don’t forget the 5000-ryo fee I charge for designated driving.”

“She’s kidding,” added Shikamaru, catching Yurina’s distressed look in the rearview mirror.

 Chouji chuckled. “I’ll swing by and pick it up tomorrow. Is 10 okay?”

“Don’t worry about it, Chouji. I’ll drive it over in the afternoon. Your mom wanted me to bring over some hydrangeas anyway.”

Shikamaru quashed the urge to look at her. Her words made his common sense tingle. But Shikamaru’s common sense hadn’t been working too well of late.

The two walked to Yurina’s front door, hand-in-hand. Ino nudged the truck back into gear and pulled out onto the street before it shut behind them. “I have the worst headache,” she said, a little embarrassed. Shikamaru didn’t answer. Somehow, it didn’t feel safe to engage in any form of conversation with her tonight; he would take the defensive route. Once upon a time, he’d remarked on her ability to anticipate his strategies and Shikamaru wondered if, even after all those years apart on the battlefield, she still knew how to do it. If he had let himself get rusty and lax, comfortable in their acquaintance, and Ino had never stopped knowing his next move.

“The silent treatment, really?” She gave him a sidelong eye-roll. “Don’t be mad at me, Shikamaru.”

“I already told you I wasn’t.”

“You said you didn’t hate me. There’s a bit of a difference.” Shikamaru raised an eyebrow and waited for her to go on. “Well, one’s a little more long-term than the other, for starters.”

Shikamaru gritted his teeth. “Look, Ino, I’m really tired. We can have our talk or whatever tomorrow, but all I’m down for right now is bed. You can drop me off here.”

Ino pulled over into the ditch in front of Hirama-san’s bungalow, smooth as silk, and didn’t bother turning the engine off like she was going to drive away immediately. Shikamaru hated that he noticed this.

“Thanks,” he offered neutrally, opening the car door.

Something made him pause there, the lingering feeling of an unspoken something that needed to be said, but damn it if he knew what it was. So instead, Shikamaru just shut Chouji’s car door and walked the fifteen paces and seven steps up to the entrance to his apartment, fumbling for his house keys in deep pockets.

Shikamaru had just turned the knob when Ino ran up behind him.

“Wait,” she said, holding out his jacket in front of her. “I forgot to give this back.”

He felt uneasy again, and reasoned in about four milliseconds flat that it had to be her. Had to. The night felt empty and open and he, stone-cold sober and without excuses. The feeling forced the words from his mouth.

“Look,” Shikamaru started wearily, nerves frayed from her presence at his side all day. “I know we got into a lot of weird stuff right after you got out of it. It’s not the way I wanted things to go with us. Ever.”

For once, Ino was quiet, taken off guard by his words, and watched him.

“What I wanted to ask is if we were alright. Okay.”

“That’s what I was asking you. In the car.”

Shikamaru grit his teeth. “And my answer is your answer. Does that make sense?”

A beat. She gave a nod.

“And are we? Okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ino answered finally, but that could have meant a lot of things.

Shikamaru closed his eyes, pressing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. “What I mean is: are we okay-okay?”

Ino just watched him with that almost criminally beguiling tilt of her head, sort of sure she knew what he was asking but waiting for him to say it first. 

“We’re just… close, well, you know that. And when things are like that, it gets pretty easy to cross back and forth over boundaries. And that kind of messes with things.”

That’s what Shikamaru said. Because he couldn’t very well say that crossing back into normal could be just as colossally shitty as crossing out into nothing, even though that summed up the rest of the feeling that was desperately trying to struggle past the prison of his restraint.

But how ludicrous was that? Crossing out into nothing meant _nothing_ nothing and they had twenty-odd years, Chouji and the best damn sensei ever between the both of them. And that was not counting anything recently. There was so much more riding on this than Shikamaru’s annoying, knee-jerk sentimentality. Maybe Temari had been right about him. Buzz killer. He felt unbelievably selfish, thinking like that.

“Yeah, when you put it like that,” Ino responded, but that could have meant a lot of things, too. Then she smiled a small twist of a smile and he was sure she knew exactly what he meant. “But I never think about things like that, Shika.”

“No, you don’t,” agreed Shikamaru. And they sort of stood there for a beat.

Then, Ino closed the distance between them in one step, leaned upwards and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. The kind of blurry, friendly-romantic one he had truthfully expected from her. Then another, with twice the heart, and then she was _kissing_ him. In the periphery of his vision, he belatedly noted that she had turned the engine of Chouji’s truck off.

Shikamaru would always remember the way the smooth curve of her cheek pressed perfectly into the palm of his hand, how she arched up against him, and he could have stood there kissing her all night and thinking about all the puzzle-perfect ways they fit together, how Ino was all soft curves against his hard angles, brash and driven where he was lazy and easy, how she never, _never_ thought about any the things he spent too much time thinking about. All night. He could have stood there all night.

But then Ino broke the kiss, their first sober, uncomplicated kiss, moving to step back and Shikamaru knew that the next thing would be to echo her movements and step away, back into the grey and nebulous region of normal they had been permanent residents in for what felt like ever. And that simply wouldn’t do. It wouldn’t do at all.

So instead, he said: “Wait. What are you doing tomorrow?”

And Ino laughed lightly and stepped forward again to run her fingers up over his chest and replied: “Having breakfast with you, hopefully.” _Hopefully_ , Shikamaru agreed, cheesy statements aside.

Then she pushed him through the front door, and he grabbed her wrists on the backward motion and tugged her in after him.

 

//

 


End file.
